All The Old Knives
by SomethingProfound11
Summary: Marian Hawke's return to Kirkwall creates complications for her old friend, the Captain of the Guard, and not just the sort related to bar fights. Post-Trespasser. Written for Black Emporium 2018.


There was a place on the outer walls of Kirkwall where Aveline could see down, over the jagged, hard city and down into the bay. Now the smoke of armies had faded away, it was even pretty - sunlight scattering over the water of the bay. If she didn't turn her head she didn't even need to see the Gallows.

That spot had become one of her favourite places to take a moment to think. Even feel a moment of pride, of accomplishment.

Aveline was not the _chevalier_ her father had wanted her to be, but she was Kirkwall's protector. That was something.

She was standing up there, when the messenger boy came to tell her that the Viscount had requested she come to the Keep. The Champion had arrived.

If someone had once told her that _Varric_ would be the Viscount of Kirkwall one day, she would've thought they'd drunk too much of Corff's dubious ale. But she probably wouldn't have believed that that one (quiet by their standards) night in the Hanged Man after a hard day's work clearing bandits from the Wounded Coast would be the last. And that she wouldn't have seen Hawke for years.

* * *

The last time she saw Hawke it was like this:

The stench of smoke hanging over the city like a suffocating blanket, fire burning sullen in the distance, the waves slapping frantically against the hull of Isabela's ship, and blood on Aveline's sword and on her armour. Her sword dragged her hand down like it was far heavier, her arm a burn.

Hawke had been limping. She remembered that. How wide those shockingly blue eyes were, the way she leant on her staff like a crutch.

Isabela had rustled up as much of a crew as she could on such short notice and set them to work, her voice a snap of authority through the hazy air. And suddenly, Aveline could understand how she'd been such a feared pirate.

Aveline caught Hawke's arm. "Hawke. I can't come with you."

"Not feeling the pirate thing?" Hawke joked but there was something sad in her expression.

"I have a duty." She was the Guard Captain. In the absence of a Viscount, even in the absence of the Templars, the City Guard was all Kirkwall had left.

"You always did have to be responsible enough to make up for the rest of us."

Aveline had a duty to stay and Hawke had a duty to leave. Something in her chest tore like paper.

Hawke threw herself forward in a sharp motion. Their armour clanked together and her face was pressed to dark hair, Hawke's hands clutching tight at her back.

"Be careful," she murmured into the curve of her ear. She wished they weren't wearing armour, that she could feel Hawke's warm solidity under her hands.

Hawke's laugh was a puff of air against her collarbone. "No promises."

When they'd boarded, Aveline had walked back into the city, sword in hand, to rally the Guard. She didn't look back. She'd run from Ostagar. She wouldn't from Kirkwall.

It wasn't until Isabela's ship was long gone over the horizon that Aveline realised that Hawke's leaving was like losing a limb. The initial wound healed, but the absence never did.

* * *

"Hello, Hawke."

In the Viscount's office, it was just the three of them. Varric, dressed in silk, and grinning broadly because Hawke had always been the other half of him in a way. Hawke, her dark hair longer but still messy in a way that still made Aveline want to fix it with her fingers, a haunted flicker in her eyes if you looked closely.

And Aveline still in armour and not sure about what to do with her hands.

She settled for looping her thumbs through her sword belt. "You look...well."

"You look as statuesque as ever," Hawke smiled.

Aveline rolled her eyes - because of course Hawke was already teasing her - but then Hawke had both of her hands on Aveline's shoulders, leaning up to kiss her on the cheek. Her lips were soft.

"It's good to see you. And also that you managed to prevent Kirkwall from falling into the sea."

"A near thing at times," she managed, still feeling heat where Hawke had kissed her. "I hear you were involved with that Inquisition business."

The smile nearly slid off Hawke's face before it steadied. "Oh yes. You know me. Trouble follows me around like a mabari puppy."

"Hmph. And yet you and Varric both avoided responsibility like it was the Blight for years."

"I think you won that one," Varric grumbled.

When Varric was snatched away by city business, the two of them took a walk through the gardens. Whispers and stares followed them like shadows. Of course they did. Even if the servants, guards and nobility weren't amongst those who'd lived in Kirkwall those years ago, Varric had written about the Champion a great deal.

His writing was full of inaccuracies and exaggerations but the heart of it was honest. He loved Hawke and he knew how to say it. Aveline was jealous of that sometimes. The ease of it. Swinging a sword had always come much more naturally to her.

"What will you do?" Aveline asked her. The need for the Inquisition had passed, Hawke's journey to Weisshaupt had been completed.

Hawke shrugged carelessly. "Apparently there's an open position for a court mage. I might even get back to healing people, instead of just hitting them with large rocks. Not that I'm knocking force magic," she stopped to grin about her own pun as Aveline groaned, because of course she did, "but that would be...nice. And Varric could use some help. I can always threaten to toast his political rivals!"

Aveline sighed. "Why do I feel like life in Kirkwall is going to involve a lot more fireballs from now on?"

"Oh Aveline," she slung an arm around her shoulder companionably. "You've missed me."

"I have," she admitted.

"Good," Hawke said with one of those smirks of hers. She dropped her arm and Aveline found herself missing the weight of it.

"Will you be moving back into the Hawke Estate?"

A shadow flitted across Hawke's face. "I don't know. I'm not sure I want to."

Aveline wasn't expecting that. Hawke has never been one to tell the truth when she could make a joke instead. But she thought of that empty estate, with its dust on the furniture and silence where there'd once been laughter and she understood. At least after Leanna had died there'd still be the servants. Now it was truly abandoned.

"You could stay with me instead." The offer was out of her mouth before she could think about it.

"Really?" They stopped near one of the flower beds. In spring they always made Aveline sneeze.

"Hawke," she said gruffly, "How long have we known each other? How much have we been through together? You put me up for a year. This is the least I can do while you get your feet back under you."

Hawke tilted her head. "Alright. Thank you."

* * *

They fell into a routine once Hawke moved her meagre belongings into Aveline's small home. She'd never needed much else. Aveline got up with the sun and attended to her duties - a great deal of paperwork and less patrolling than she might like. Hawke spent her time lounging near Varric's throne - making him laugh in between petitioners with impersonations of the nobility - or flitting around Kirkwall doing 'mage-y things' in her words. She seemed to enjoy it - not just the healing or the occasional hitting-someone-with-a-rock but even the fact that she could use her magic to help.

Not that Hawke had been particularly subtle as an apostate after the first few years. "It becomes somewhat a moot point when half the city's nobility saw you roast a giant qunari," Hawke had told her archly.

Aveline had still told her at the time that maybe she should refrain from fireballs or waving around a staff in public.

"Oh no, this isn't a staff, Captain. This is a _polearm_."

"A polearm."

"Yes. I am a polearm enthusiast."

How she'd gotten through fourteen years of friendship with this woman without losing all her hair, Aveline had no idea.

Now though, when she returned from her duties there was someone to eat dinner with in front of the warm heat of the hearth. She became accustomed to it worryingly quickly. Sometimes she even looked to returning home, rather than it just being a place where she slept and little else.

It wasn't the rowdy Hawke home long gone nor the barracks, but perhaps that was alright.

* * *

You know," Hawke mused one night over soup, "I think that Ser Henry is actually attempting to woo me."

The idea appeared to thoroughly amuse Hawke. Aveline stared blankly into her bowl, no longer tasting it. "Oh."

Hawke's eyes were suddenly sharp as knives. "That bothers you."

"You may do whatever you wish, Hawke." She rose to her feet, businesslike. "I'm going to go for a walk. Get some fresh air."

"Wait, wait, wait." Hawke planted herself in front of her. "First of all, Henry is a man. I am not interested in men, least of all Orlesian men."

"I'm technically Orlesian," Aveline said, as if her senses had just decided to pack up and vacate her skull. The children in Ferelden had never let her forget it either when she was growing up. 'du Lac' had been good as a target painted across her back.

"Yes, but you're my favourite sort-of Orlesian so you don't need to worry on that account."

"Hawke," she said, tired, "I don't know what you want from this." From me.

"What I've always wanted."

Hawke's mouth was warm and steady on hers, her strong fingered hands framing her cheeks, anchoring her in place. Unrushed, as if they had all the time in the world.

"Wha-" she blinked rapidly when the other woman pulled away. "I..."

Hawke waited very patiently as she gathered herself.

"You want..."

"You," she said very firmly. "I always have, if you're open to that. If you're not, that's alright. That's fine! Perfectly alright! We can have a laugh about it in the morning and forget about it. Go on being buddies."

Of course Hawke would shrug off a damned love confession.

"I'm going to sit down." Aveline decided and thumped down into one of the chairs by the fireplace. "Why didn't you say something?"

They'd known each other for fourteen years! And Hawke had always had the patience of a bored five year old!

"I flirted with you," Hawke sat on the edge of the other chair, "When you seemed disinterested, I dropped it. I cared too much to lose your friendship, you see."

"I thought you were teasing me," Aveline said faintly. "All those things you said about how strong I am."

Hawke shrugged. "I was teasing, but I meant it too. You're very impressive."

Aveline's face was on fire. She stood, took an unsteady step towards the Champion of Kirkwall. Hawke looked at her steadily. "You want me."

"I love you," Hawke corrected very softly.

Aveline pulled her up and into her before she could think about what she was doing. Kissing her deep, kissing her hard, as if she needed to make up for all the times they'd bled, all the times they'd been parted, all the opportunities missed. She curved her arms around her waist, felt the hard planes of muscles, the softness too, the way Hawke leant into her and kissed her back greedily.

Aveline kissed her until they were both breathless and gasping for breath, Aveline's shirt half undone.

"I love you too," she murmured into the curve of her neck. Then she slid her hands under Hawke's thighs and lifted her up.

Hawke eagerly wrapped her legs around her hips and Aveline's breath caught at the almost scorching heat of her body so close. Hawke's hands were very enthusiastically running along her back, her shoulders, her biceps.

"Muscles," she sighed happily before nibbling along Aveline's jawline.

"Bed?"

"Yes please. Let's see some warrior stamina."

"Too many lines and I'm kicking you to the couch."

"You are a cruel woman, Aveline."

"We'll see about that, Hawke."

In the bed she'd spent so many nights alone, she pushed Hawke down, reading her delight in her voice and in the dance of those eyes, and touched her the way she'd never let herself imagine. With her mouth and hands, hip to hip, thigh to thigh, breast to breast. Learning the shape of her, the wiry strength of her, new scars and old scars.

After, she traced the long white line bisecting Hawke's stomach. It'd been ten years since blood had run in the streets, but Aveline could still remember it clearly. How all of Hawke's jokes and laughter and ready smiles had melted away, leaving only a scream of rage and pain. How badly Aveline had wanted to run to her. How she'd held her in her arms afterwards as healing magic twined around her.

Then Hawke smiled languidly beneath her and surged up, twisting until Aveline's back hit the bed.

"My turn," she smirked, hand pressing down.

* * *

Habit woke Guard Captain Aveline Vallen up at the crack of dawn. Normally, she would rise, dress herself in hard steel and go to the office before the day shift of guards had even woken to get started on her work.

This morning though, she stretched and looked down at Hawke, burrowed in her blankets, black hair sticking up. This time she didn't stop the urge to run her fingers through it.

"Mm." Hawke snuggled deeper into the bed, flinging one arm around Aveline's waist.

Sometimes things broke and you couldn't get them back. Sometimes you just had to clear the rubble and rebuild. Aveline knew this well. She'd had to do it twice.

But she had this. Hawke had flown back to her. She didn't intend to let go.


End file.
